Snow Flurries
by MizSphinx
Summary: Moderately content with life and her upcoming nuptials to Seamus, Hermione is understandably shell-shocked when she opens her front door one evening, and finds Fred Weasley standing - very much alive - on her doorstep. Secret Santa fic.


**Author:** mizsphinx

**Recipient: **Nathaniel Cardeu

**Title: **Snow Flurries

**Summary: **Moderately content with life and her upcoming nuptials to Seamus, Hermione is understandably shell-shocked when she opens her front door one evening, and finds Fred Weasley standing—very much alive—on her doorstep.

**Pairing:** Hermione/Fred

**Genre: **Romance/Humour/Fluff

**Spoilers: **Fred never died! Hmph.

**Warnings: **A bit fast-paced; snapshots; AU (Alternate Universe)

**Disclaimer**: _The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

_**AN:**__ Now, on the eve of New Year's Day - incidentally, my dad's birthday; happy birthday, daddy! - I give you, my lovelies, a Christmas fic! Written for Nathaniel Cardeu for GE's Secret Santa Gift Exchange, and beta-ed by the ever wonderful fury-shashka - I said it once, and I'll say it again: I love you! XD _

_**Yojne!**  
><em>

* * *

><p>"Hello, Hermione."<p>

Hermione Granger rarely got surprised anymore these days. After going to war against the evilest of men, few things seldom gave her 'true shock'. Not to mention that she'd long learnt the virtues of logical thinking. Circumstances people liked to classify as 'miraculous' and 'amazing' usually didn't hold such weight in Hermione's eyes. Every situation had a scientific, unexceptional explanation behind it. And if there ever was an avid believer in science, it was Hermione Granger.

That was why, when Fred Weasley—dead for seven years come next year May, or so she'd been led to believe—showed up late one night on her doorstep, looking remarkably healthy and _un_dead, Hermione experienced her first 'true shock' in nearly ten years.

Her favourite green mug with an image of a smiling turtle on each side plummeted to the floor, shattering into pieces and splattering her half-full cup of peppermint tea over Fred's boots and her front door step.

She screamed.

And then she fainted.

* * *

><p>When next she awoke, she found herself lying on her bed, puzzled as to how she'd got there in the first place. The back of her head felt as if someone had clouted her with a hand that was made of lead, and when she touched it, the lump that had formed there ensured uncomfortable sleep that night.<p>

"The lady awakes," said a voice to her left.

She turned and saw Fred sitting comfortably in her reading chair, his right ankle crossed over his left knee, his fingers intertwined at the back of his head.

He was smiling.

He was _alive_.

A ghost, surely? Science or not, ghosts existed in the magical world. She merely had to return to dear old Hogwarts to prove that fact. But why did he look so real? So…_tangible_? Surely if he was a ghost she'd have been able to see through him to the ugly burgundy-and-purple floral covering of the chair her mum had got her last year.

Well, there was only one fool-proof way to decipher whether or not Fred Weasley was some spectre come back to haunt her for Merlin-knows-damned-well-why.

So reached out slowly, tentatively, and grazed her forefinger lightly against the top of his exposed forearm.

Solid. Warm. A bit hairy, too.

Suddenly he leant forwards.

"Boo!"

She yanked her hand backwards so fast, the momentum sent her careening off the edge of the bed to tumble gracelessly to the floor.

* * *

><p>"And you've been in Australia all this bloody time?" Hermione repeated in accusatory tones.<p>

"Completely against my will, mind," he replied. "I had what Muggles called 'amnesia.'"

Fascinated now, despite still feeling wary about whether this individual truly was Fred Weasley or not, Hermione leant closer.

"Amnesia? So how did your memories come back?"

Across from her, still sitting in her reading sofa, Fred smiled. A handsome upward curving of his lips that made Hermione suddenly aware of where they were, cooped up in her bedroom. Like a large vault being opened, she felt a single turn of some giant wheel in the general vicinity of her heart. One notch; how many more to go?

Ridiculous.

_Not even an hour after realising he's alive and I'm already attracted to him? What a tart._

"It was you, actually," he said. "I was heading home from work when I saw this girl reading a book in a restaurant. She had your hair," and he motioned his hands over his head to convey how wild and bushy the girl's hair was.

"But I don't remember everything, though," he continued. "I only remember that my name was—is Fred, and that I—"

The sudden slamming of Hermione's front door made her jump, and when she heard Seamus calling out her name from downstairs she frowned. He knew she didn't like when he showed up unannounced, worse yet, when he waltzed in like if he lived there.

Regardless that she and Seamus were engaged to be married in the next three weeks, Hermione had taken the traditional route and had refused to live with Seamus until they'd been properly married. She rather liked to delude herself that she'd chosen this setup purely for romantic purposes—absence makes the heart grow fonder; being away from each other would make their joining so much sweeter. But deep, deep down, way past outrageous childhood dreams of growing up to be a princess or being snogged by Draco Malfoy, a part of Hermione knew that she was only trying to delay the inevitable.

Because, truth be told, Hermione Granger did not love Seamus Finnigan.

* * *

><p>Hermione and Seamus had dated for two years before Seamus had proposed in the most unromantic fashion, two months ago.<p>

They'd been washing up the dishes after dinner together when Seamus had merely said in his lilting accent—that accent that reminded her of forests and sheep with wool the size of clouds:

"We work well together. We should get married."

And she'd responded, in a similarly sensible tone, "I agree. We should."

The conversation for setting the date had gone just the same:

"Christmas Day, then?"

Drying off a mug, she'd responded, "Lovely."

She may not have been head-over-heels in love with Seamus, but she had immense respect for him, and what was a marriage that had love but no respect? She cared for him and he cared for her too. The trials of the War had done a number on all who'd taken part in it. Deadened a section of their once vivacious and hopeful hearts. Regardless that they'd won, they'd lost so, so much as well.

In three weeks, she would be Hermione Jean Finnigan, wife of Seamus Finnigan. Was she settling? A resounding yes. She wasn't so full of herself to think she deserved a better man than Seamus, but she certainly felt she deserved love just like everybody else. But where to find such a love when nobody was willing to open their hearts anymore? And if she did find someone, would she be willing to open her own heart as well? Risk knowing love than to not have known at all for fear of losing it?

Her eyes wandered to Fred and she found him watching her. In the few seconds their gazes met, Hermione felt that turn once more. A second notching of the wheel being turned anti-clockwise. Something being opened up.

Discovered.

* * *

><p>The reuniting of Fred with his family later that night set Hermione's heart into a game of tug-of-war. She didn't know whether she should laugh or cry.<p>

"My son, my boy!" Mrs. Weasley cried, clinging to Fred with obvious intentions to never let go. "My Christmas present come early! Where have you been all this time?"

Uncaring that tears were streaming down his face, Mr. Weasley embraced Fred in a hard, unrelenting hug that made Fred's arms stick out awkwardly. And, as if Mr. Weasley's actions were the impetus they needed, the remainder of the Weasley family went and enveloped their brother in a huge loving circle.

Except George.

Later in the evening, after Fred had been hugged and kissed to within an inch of his life by his family, George finally approached him.

"Yeah, where have you been, Fred?" demanded George in quiet, accusatory tones. "And what's the special occasion why you've come back after all this time?"

Fred's gaze wandered over to where Hermione stood, the fire from the fireplace silhouetting her in a golden glow. She smiled shyly at him then pretended to be interested in the contents of her pumpkin juice.

George noticed this interchange and understood, because despite the seven-year absence, he still knew his brother just as well as he knew himself.

"I see," said George, anger slightly abated. "Still holding out hope, then."

Fred looked at his brother and smiled. "It's all I have left. As well as determination."

George stared at Fred for a long time before he eventually shook his head.

"And here I'd thought you'd returned because you missed _me_."

Fred stopped smiling. It was the first time George could recall ever seeing his brother's face look so sombre…so honest. Finally pulling his brother into a hard, manly hug, George tried telling himself that the prickling in his eyeballs were definitely _not_ tears.

"I did, Georgie. I really did."

* * *

><p>"I don't mind!"<p>

"You're sure?" pressed Fred. "If you're not, just let me know. It'll only be for a few days until I can get my own place. There's no space at George's especially with the children, and being at Mrs. Weas…err…my mum's is just a bit…strange."

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, I completely understand! You've been living as someone else for seven years, and to suddenly realise you're not who you thought you've been all this time must be overwhelming. I really don't mind you staying, Fred!"

She really didn't.

As a matter of fact, the little girl inside of her was doing somersaults and cheerleader splits complete with pompoms.

Gods help her.

She _should_ mind this setup, shouldn't she? There had been much argument on her side whenever Seamus had suggested living together to preserve finances, and yet, here she was granting immediate access to her home to Fred with nary an opposition. Why? Because…

She fancied him.

Yes. She liked Fred. He made her feel funny inside—and completely in a good way. A special, lovely, gooey kind of way that made her instantly aware of his presence whenever he was around. And he was around a lot. In the week since he'd made his Return from the Dead, not only did Fred Weasley occupy her mind, he also occupied her company since she worked at home, and he did not have a job.

_I'm getting married in two weeks!_

Maybe this was how cold feet began? Or what if 'cold feet' was more of a test? To determine your resilience in marriage by placing temptation to cheat in arms' reach? She was going along just fine in a committed relationship; days away from wedded bliss, and then wham! Out of the blue, this heretofore dead bloke showed up on her doorstep, begging refuge in her home, and she was smilingly agreeing because he was handsome, and the way he looked at her made her belly spasm and her breathing quicken.

Fred smiled.

Her heart: pa-_thump_! Pa-_thump_! Pa-_thump_!

If cold feet was a test, she was failing with a flying kaleidoscope of colours.

_Look away, Hermione, look away! _

"Thanks, Hermione. I really appreciate it. So, to offer some form of repayment, however small, let me take you out for some ice cream."

* * *

><p>At Magical Delights in Hogsmeade, Fred coaxed her into buying two scoops of a hazelnut vanilla-chocolate ice cream, and rented a carriage for a forty-five minute drive around the area. By the time they'd seated themselves, and the driver had began a slow, steady pace along the street, dusk had gave way to night and a light showering of flurries had begun to fall.<p>

_Plop_, _plop_, _plop_ went the horses' hooves as the carriage ambled along the flurry-carpeted road. And with the amber glow of the street lamps, as well as the lights from within the houses spilling out onto the heaps of snow that gathered along the roadside, Hermione couldn't help but admire the picturesque and incredibly romantic view. She supposed that this was what the pictures on Muggle Christmas cards wanted to achieve.

Sighing contentedly, she leant back into her seat—and found Fred's right arm running along the top, grazing the back of her neck. Regardless that he was wearing a long-sleeved jacket, she could still feel the warmth of his skin imprinting itself along her neck.

Three-quarters of her wanted to stay just like that, but the remaining quarter—the bit that was filled with sense and had a nagging tone to voice that sense aloud—won out. She began to edge away when, to her surprise, Fred curved his arm around her shoulder and eased her up against his side. Shocked, she was just about to question his behaviour, when he placed his face into her hair and inhaled deeply.

"You smell as good as I remember."

_Plop, plop, plop_ went the horses' hooves.

Pa-_thump_, pa-_thump_, pa-_thump_ went her heart.

The flurries were still falling, circling downwards to their destination, unconcerned as to where they would land. Wherever the wind carried them they went.

She turned her face towards Fred's, able to make out every single feature of his face despite the gloom within the carriage.

Could you fall in love with someone in seven days?

Or maybe you'd already loved the person without knowing you did?

How could you love a person and not know you love them? What did loving someone feel like, anyway? A flame in the depths of your heart or the pit of your stomach? Something much more subtle? Intangible as the wisps of smoke? A heavy, stuffed-up, unavoidable sensation like having thirds on a really good meal?

"Fred—"

_Plop, plop, plop_. Plop. The carriage jerked to a stop.

Craning his neck to look at them, the carriage driver announced: "Here yer are. That'll be five galleons, then."

* * *

><p>"Damnation!"<p>

Fred snorted.

"What? What's so funny?" She spared him an angry glance before returning to her task of decorating. She was trying to wound a section of the Christmas lights around a nail in the wall, but was finding difficulty reaching the nail. She was only so tall, after all.

"Here, let me help you." He took the cord from her hand and looped it easily around the nail. He gave her a half-smile when he was finished. "Not so hard, was it?"

She returned his smile. "I suppose."

Shoving his hands into his trouser pockets, he leaned his face closer to hers. "But that doesn't exempt you from giving me a reward, y'know."

She raised an eyebrow, trying to appear as though excitement wasn't unfolding in her chest as she spoke. "Is that so? Well, maybe the remains of your mum's banana cake—"

Her words were cut short when Fred leant closer and pressed his lips against hers.

_Pull away!_

She leant into him.

_Shove him off!_

She wrapped her arms around his neck.

_Stop kissing him!_

She opened her mouth at his bidding, allowing him to deepen their kiss. When he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, she gave a little moan, tightening her hold around his neck, squashing her front to his. She could feel his hands smoothing along her sides beneath her shirt, his palms warm and roughened and rasping along her skin, urging her closer to him.

_We're going too fast. This is going too fast._

She was walking him backwards towards her sofa, her small fingers making quick work of the buttons on his shirt as she kissed him with a desperateness that would have shamed her had she been a voyeur looking in on this scene. When his legs hit the edge of the sofa and he sank into the cushions, she went down with him, climbing onto his lap.

She felt as though fire had suddenly traded places with her blood, and that every single need and want she'd ever had in her life seemed inconsequential when compared to her current ultimate desire: Fred. She wanted Fred. In exactly seven days, she was going to be Seamus Finnigan's wife, and yet she was clinging to Fred like he was the sea, and she a gasping fish lying on a shore.

Where had he been all her life?

Dead for seven years.

So was this real? Would this feeling last? Was it truly better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all?

She stopped kissing him.

"Hermione?"

She scrambled off of Fred's lap, on the verge of tears.

"I'm sorry, Fred."

She fled the room.

She was not a snow flurry.

She was not a risk-taker.

_But wouldn't it be nice to be?_

* * *

><p>"Hermione, you look gorgeous!" cried Ginny, eyes shiny with unshed tears. "Seamus isn't going to know what hits him when he sees you."<p>

Hermione smiled weakly at Ginny and Lavender as she smoothed her hands self-consciously over the front of her wedding gown. She supposed she did look…pretty. After all, she had paid a hefty price for the dress, and why pay cringe-worthy money for an article of clothing if it didn't make you look your finest?

At the knock of the door, Hermione turned and watched as George entered the room. For a few seconds, she felt her breath hitch at the sight of him, nearly confusing him with Fred, when she spotted the telltale differentiation—the missing left ear.

"It's time to go down," he said quietly, giving her a solemn look.

With the help of Lavender, she affixed her veil to her hair, and then allowed George to take her arm as she left the room.

Due to the cost of renting a church, and because it would be a small gathering, she and Seamus had decided to host their wedding ceremony on her parents' patio. Their arms looped, George and Hermione made their way casually down the stairs. As they walked, Hermione couldn't help sneaking surreptitious glances at George, comparing him to Fred, and awarding Fred the title of Better Looking Twin.

She wondered whether Fred was downstairs waiting to watch her get married to another man.

She wondered if he'd be like the main male character of a cheesy romantic movie, jumping up to say, "Stop!" just after the minister had made the famous 'speak now, or forever hold your peace' speech.

She wondered, in the event that he made such a courageous move, if she would match his brave act with one of her own and run off with him as well…

But she was not a risk-taker.

She was not.

But she wanted to be.

Oh, how nice it would be to follow her heart, for once, instead of following her head…

They arrived at the entry to the living room. However, instead of guiding her through it to reach the patio, George kept walking with her, passing the living room by to head in the direction of the backdoor.

"George, you're going the wrong way," she said, tugging on his arm to get his attention.

"Am I?" was his response as he clutched her arm tighter in his and kept on walking.

"Yes! George, that's the back door!" she insisted. "Why are you—"

It was then that she noticed George's left ear.

There was an ear there that should _not_ be there.

A glamour charm. The sneaky bastard.

"Fred!"

"Yes, darling?"

"Where are you taking me?" she demanded, craning her head around to see if anyone was following them.

Turning to her, he pulled her body against his and crushed her mouth into a rough, possessive kiss. Before she could react, he pulled away and whispered against her lips,

"For seven years I didn't know you. I never knew who you were, and then one day I see this girl that looks like you. And your name came to me, and your face came to me, and my feelings for you came to me. And I set out to find you, and I found you, and I found you're promised to another man. You. Do you know that I love you, Hermione?"

She smiled shyly at him. "Could you fall in love with someone in twenty-one days?"

"Maybe if you've always loved them and didn't know it."

Wherever the wind carried them, snow will go. And no snowflake falls by itself. They joined together for the jump.

It is better to love than to never have loved.

"And now that you've found me and told me that you love me, what next?"

He smiled at her, holding her close in preparation for Apparition.

"Well, today _is_ Christmas Day. I can think of a gift or two or I'd like to give you. Sound like a plan?"

She smiled back, circling her hands around his neck.

"A fabulous one."

* * *

><p>Nathaniel Cardeu's wish list items used:<p>

- An **unexpected**/unwelcome visitor from her past returns to stir up trouble in Hermione's happy life.

- A carriage ride in the snow.


End file.
